


falling water

by zigsexual (anythingbutloud)



Series: the driam vignettes [1]
Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, M/M, just really a lot of teen angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-10-04 18:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutloud/pseuds/zigsexual
Summary: they never talk about what happened the night they stole the boat. they really should.





	falling water

**Author's Note:**

> ok so this is the beginning of my driam vignettes, starting of course with the infamous First Kiss as we all know. the next one will most likely be drake returning from college since Of Course thats what it would be. also they’re angsty as fuck because what did you expect, it’s driam.

They’re seventeen and sunburned, laughter mingled with the hum of the ocean as Drake stands on the bow of their borrowed boat (and borrowed here is a forgiving term, for perhaps they never really asked permission), watching Liam tighten the jib against the growing rush of the nighttime wind.

He squints against the darkness of the sky, neck craned back to check if the adjustment has helped any. They’ve only been out a half hour or so, and already the winds have shifted in a way that’s throwing them much too far off course.

Liam calls over to him from the rigging. “Is that better?”

Drake hops down, bringing a hand up to push his hair out of his eyes. It’s a futile gesture, much like their work with the sail — the wind is whipping everything into place as she pleases. Liam is unsteady when he stands to meet him, holding back against the mast as the ocean kicks up beneath them.

“Should’ve paid more attention in your royal sailing class,” Drake grins. “If we pull in on the mainsail a bit too, I think we can clear a turn before the weather changes.”

“And by ‘we,’ I’m assuming you mean I’ve been volunteered yet again?”

Drake shrugs, still grinning, and Liam makes a big show of rolling his eyes even as he’s already heading back towards the boom. “What can I say, I like watching you work.”

Liam glances back over his shoulder, the smile bright in his eyes, and something in his expression makes Drake’s mouth go dry. “Is that so?”

“I — ah,” Drake coughs, crossing his arms stiffly and shuffling back against the mast as Liam gets down to untie the rigging. “You know, it’s… royalty and all that, getting your hands dirty. Good for us common folk to see once in a while.”

“You know I’ve never been one to shy away from getting my hands dirty,” Liam says back, letting the rope loosen in his fingers. Drake pretends the heat in his face is still just a sunburn.

It’s been _their_ summer: the first without constant supervision for Liam, now that school is nearly over and adulthood is close on its heels. Leo has let the slack down on his wild days, and his presence at court has settled the King’s near-constant unease. It’s as if, in Leo’s metaphorical taking of the torch, he has loosened whatever expectation his prior inaction had pressed upon Liam and opened the door to freedom at long last.

“We can spend every single day together,” Liam had promised him, the two of them holed out in a hidden alcove of the King’s Guard, sharing whatever pastries the palace kitchens had left over from breakfast. “My father says I won’t have to sit in on diplomacy meetings this summer, not with Leo back, so we can do whatever we want.”

Drake remembers the lists they’d made, grandiose plans to fill their newfound freetime, talk of travel and mischief and plenty of firsts. It’s always easier said than done, though — and with August nearly over, taking the sailboat out seemed as easy a task as any, if only to prove to themselves that they’d accomplished _something_ they set out to do.

Liam stands up, surveying the knots in the rigging. “How does that look?”

Drake crosses over to check, playing into Liam’s idea that he’s some sort of sailing expert. In truth, he barely knows more than Liam, but he’s not about to admit that to a prince. “Solid. You’re a regular boyscout.”

Liam smiles. “Boyscouts don’t steal boats.”

“Well, it’s not really stealing if you own the entire country, right?”

“I don’t _own_ the entire country —“

“Same difference.”

“Try telling the King that,” Liam laughs, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Leo has him convinced I’m nothing but trouble.”

Drake scoffs. “Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

“What, you don’t think I’m trouble?” Liam tilts his head, starlight in his eyes. Drake hesitates, pretending to fiddle with the rigging for a moment if only to catch a break from the stuttering in his chest.

Liam is still blissfully unaware of the way his later teenage years have blessed him: the broadness of his shoulders, the cut of his jaw, the lines of his arms. It’s stupidly unfair, the whole ‘handsome prince’ gimmick come to life, and if Drake weren’t his best friend then maybe he would be more jealous.

Or perhaps jealousy isn’t the right turn of phrase.

He forces a smile, knocking his shoulder against Liam’s. “I think you’re all sorts of trouble, _Prince_ Liam.”

Before he can respond, a wave hits the side of the boat, water crashing over the edge and splashing against the sails. Drake jumps up onto the bench seat and Liam follows, grabbing the boom for support. He squints out against the darkness again, worried, but despite the change in the weather their efforts _are_ guiding them back towards the marina. Drake can still see it in the distance, spray from the growing grumbling of the ocean blurring its lights into halos.

When the next wave collides, he puts a hand on Liam’s shoulder instinctively, something of an older brother reflex mingled with a lifetime of lessons in his best friend’s security. Liam isn’t fragile, no — but he’s also not broken, not yet, and Drake would like nothing more than to keep him that way.

“How long do you think it’ll take to get back?” Liam asks, biting his lip. “If the wind doesn’t hit the sails…”

“It will.” Drake sets his jaw, pointing at the lights with his free hand. “See, we’re already angled towards the port, so we just need to keep course. Shouldn’t be too long.”

Liam is quiet, looking out at the docks, his face bathed in moonlight. It’s times like these where he looks less like a teenager and more like the bearer of his birthright — stoic and solemn. For the hundredth time that summer, Drake is grateful for Leo’s permanent presence in the court, if only to shield Liam from the possibility of ascension.

Because Liam’s not like the rest of them; Liam is _good_.

There’s more to it than that though. He tries not to let his thoughts linger on it, but in Their Summer the reality of the world has gotten away from him a few times, and the moments between him and Liam have started to blur the lines more often than not.

The dreams started a few months ago, Drake waking up clinging to the sheets and terrified of what he might have said in his sleep. They feel too real, too raw, too practiced to be some kind of cerebral misfire. They feel too real, but not real enough.

In his weaker moments, when he lets himself dwell on it, he thinks maybe Liam feels it too. Maybe there _is_ meaning in the swell of the feelings that pass between them, more than what there used to be. Sometimes Liam looks at him when they’re alone, and the weight of his gaze is such that Drake is almost certain the dreams aren’t only his.

He catches himself staring, but Liam hasn’t seemed to notice, still watching the water with his brow furrowed. There’s reason behind it too: the waves are breaking faster now, rocking the boat back and forth even as they surge closer to the marina. Drake’s fingers tighten on Liam’s shoulder.

“I’m alright,” he responds, as if sensing the fear in the gesture. “Do we need to… are there life jackets?”

“I don’t know, did you steal any while we were stealing the boat?”

Liam turns his head, an amused smile on his lips. “I thought I was supposed to be the boyscout.”

“I thought you didn’t mind getting your hands dirty,” Drake fires back.

“Depends on who I’m getting them dirty with.”

 _Jesus_. His face feels so hot he’s sure even the shore can see him blushing.

He steps down and crosses towards the headsail, using the boom as a guide. There’s already too much water on the deck, and he can feel it running into his shoes as he walks. “Come spot me for a second, I’m going to loosen the ropes here and see if it helps.”

Before Liam even has a chance to move, the next wave hits the boat so violently that Drake is thrown back against the mast, water spraying up into his face and momentarily blinding him. He reaches out, swearing, trying to grab ahold of the rigging to pull himself back up. “Liam?” he calls out, blinking rapidly against the sting of salt, “Are you okay?”

“I’m good!” Liam’s voice is barely audible above the ocean now. “I’m coming over; don’t move, okay?”

“No, wait —” Drake’s fingers find rope and he pulls, managing to stand as the water coats the deck. He blinks again and barely makes out Liam’s figure holding onto the boom. “Just stay there, I can —“

The next wave cracks right where Liam is standing, and when he tightens his hold on the rigging against it, the force of the water yanks him backwards, pulling the rope with him. Drake surges forward, trying to run towards even him with the water tugging at his ankles, but before he makes any headway, another wave breaks against the boom, and the rope gives, and the whole thing swings wildly across the deck, and Liam is gone.

Drake’s breath catches in his throat, eyes darting across the deck for some sign of Liam, but there’s nothing there except rising water and the pooled remains of the rigging. His heart clenches, and before stopping to think, he pulls himself up to the bow of the boat and dives in.

The water isn’t too cold, but it sure is murky; he can barely manage to keep his eyes open against the swirling current. He almost opens his mouth to yell out Liam’s name, panic momentarily betraying logic. His heart is beating too fast, and he’s already losing too much air.

It’s then that his rational mind sets in, after the planless plan has already been put in motion, and he remembers something. Against his better judgement (better judgement is with Liam, always), he pulls himself back up towards the air, surfacing on the crest of another wave and slamming back against the side of the sloop.

It hurts like hell, but he manages to reach up to grab the edge for support. The boat doesn’t look like it will even _be_ a support much longer, and Drake’s eyes frantically scan across the deck in search of the life preserver he could swear he’d seen earlier. If ever there was a life to be preserved…

He sees it, suddenly, swinging from its rope precariously. Hand-over-hand, he makes his way around the side of the boat, biting his lip against the burn in his fingers. There will be time for pain later, when Liam is safe.

He hoists himself up the side of the boat, leaning on an elbow as he reaches for the ropes holding back the crisp white circle. A wave cracks against the side and sends him backwards, choking on water, but he pushes back with all the force he has left and breaks up for air again, coughing, hands reaching out for purchase.

“Drake!” he hears someone call, and for a moment he thinks he’s hallucinating, that all the sea water forced in his lungs has found its way up to his brain. He grabs the edge of the boat again, pulling himself up with a frustrated cry, hand finally closing around the lifeline and tugging, tugging, until the life preserver tumbles down in front of him and he throws himself at it before another wave can carry it away.

It’s only then that he turns out, pushing away from the boat, and hears the voice again: “Drake!” It’s louder now, more distinct, and without a second of hesitation he bears down towards it, kicking against the sea, his arms holding tight to the one thing keeping him above water as he heads towards the only other thing that could still pull him under.

“I’m over here!” he shouts, voice hoarse from the saltwater, squinting against the darkness for any sign of Liam. The terror begins to well up in his throat, and his eyes burn even more than before.

Then — like some kind of divine intervention — the moonlight arcs just right, across a lull in the waves, an eye in the storm, and Drake sees him.

He doesn’t remember getting there, doesn’t remember the force of his fear as he pushed forward, doesn’t remember the vice in his grip as he caught Liam’s hand. It blurs together in adrenaline; Liam calling out his name and the relief flooding his body at the sound of it.

He only knows the aftermath: the two of them, clinging to the life preserver, Liam’s fingers locked in his.

They don’t speak, both breathing too hard to break, but the lights of the marina are closer now than ever, and the shore is starting to become something stronger than a dream. Drake’s not sure how long they’ve been out here; it could be hours, could be minutes. The sky is still dark and inky, melting into the sea on the horizon like an endless ocean, swallowing them whole.

Liam is clutching his hand tighter than anything else, tighter even than his grip on their temporary savior, the very object keeping them afloat. Drake tries not to pay any extra attention to it, focusing instead on getting them back to land, but every so often he glances over at Liam just to make sure he’s real.

Liam squeezes his hand as they kick towards the shore, some unbidden message in the pressure of his fingers. Drake squeezes back, and through the roar of the waves in his ears, he hears Liam softly exhale.

The marina builds ahead of them, so reachable now that it seems like a mirage. Drake jolts as his feet touch sand, and as the grains sink in against his toes he realizes he has no idea where his shoes are. He has no idea where the boat is.

They push forward through the tide, grip loosening as the water lets them go, only tugging at their ankles now, even though they both feel the weight of the ocean right down to their bones. The exhaustion hits hard then, and Drake stumbles down to his knees, finally collapsing on the shore of the beach with the marina lights bright in his eyes.

He hears Liam fall down next to him with an abrupt sigh, and then it’s just the sound of the waves pulling softly against the shore and his heartbeat ringing loud in his ears.

It’s a long moment while the two of them lay there, breathing heavily. Drake almost opens his mouth to speak a few times, but he’s never quite sure what to say. The longer the quiet sits between them, the more the adrenaline dissolves in his veins.

“Good thing I can afford another boat,” Liam finally says.

Drake starts laughing, and then Liam is laughing too, the two of them wet and sandy and somehow alive; Liam owning the entire country and Drake just along for the ride. It feels like maybe they are the only two people in the world right then, laughter echoing out against the landscape for miles, and Drake thinks maybe that wouldn’t be so bad if they were.

Liam turns his head, the smile still left on his lips, looking at him like he’s the sun and the moon and the stars all at once. “You saved my life.”

Drake turns too, locking eyes. “Not really.”

“Yes, really,” Liam says. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The moonlight arcs across his skin again, and Drake isn’t sure why he’s holding his breath but he is — and there’s Liam just a foot away, the back of his hand brushing Drake’s, water dripping down from his hair and catching on his eyelashes, and he looks like — god, even thinking it makes his stomach seize up. He’s been trying not to think about it for the entire summer, trying _so hard_ to keep his mind from wandering when they’re alone.

“You have freckles.” Liam says.

Drake can’t even speak, can only nod, wide-eyed and trancelike under the intensity of Liam’s gaze. He feels like he’s drowning again, his lungs filling with saltwater…

Liam reaches out his other hand, as if to trace the patterns on Drake’s cheeks, but instead his fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, thumb resting along his jaw.

“I’ve never seen your freckles before,” Liam breathes, and then — his _mouth_.

Drake inhales sharply, almost like a gasp, his brain flooding with the scent of the sea and the sand and the boy — _his_ boy, his best friend, his secret daydream — everything wrapping around him like an anchor, dragging him back towards Liam’s shore.

He threads his fingers in Liam’s hair, tugging him closer, open-mouthed and urgent as the weight of it all begins to set in. Liam makes a tiny sound, almost like a sigh, and Drake pulls him down until they’re tangled up in each other beyond repair.

He kisses Liam’s jaw, his cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose — back to his lips with an urgency too easy to detect, a note of worry in the pressure of his hands that betrays the fear coursing through his veins: that this is ephemeral, that soon this will fade away into the darkness like the remains of their stolen sloop.

The water from Liam’s hair is dripping down Drake’s face like tears, his teeth catching on Liam’s lower lip, a desperate sound building in the back of his throat when Liam tilts his head to breathe. Every part of them that touches feels like fire, and Liam’s eyes are alight with it as he stares down at Drake, licking his lower lip absently, propped up on one elbow.

“Come back,” Drake whispers, embarrassing himself with the neediness in his voice.

Liam kisses him so roughly then that he wonders if tomorrow he’ll have a bruise to remember him by. He twists his hands into his hair, guiding him closer, the heat building between them like a burn. Liam’s lips move to his neck, the gentle press of teeth against his skin almost too much to handle, and he bites his own lip to keep from making a sound.

Liam’s mouth finds the hollow just under his ear, kisses back across his face to the freckles on his cheeks. He’s more insistent this time when they come together, one hand threaded into Drake’s hair to tug him back to his lips. Drake shifts beneath him, hooking his ankle over Liam’s, the weight of his body so safe and comfortable that kissing him like this feels like coming home.

He’s seen Liam a million times, a million different ways; has been privy to his deepest thoughts and spent countless nights talking until sleep took them both. He _knows_ Liam, knows how he smiles when he’s trying not to cry, knows the weight in his shoulders as he speaks to his father, knows the way he kisses you like a gift he doesn’t know he’s giving.

Yet right now, in this moment, he feels like he’ll never be close enough until he breathes the air right out of Liam’s lungs.

Liam pulls back, bracing himself above Drake with both hands curled into the sand, chest rising and falling raggedly. His hair is a mess, a rare sight when it comes to the royals, and there’s a flush in his cheeks that makes Drake feel hot all over.

There’s a long moment where they just stare at each other, both catching their breath. Liam looks like sin: still wet from the ocean, his shirt clinging to his chest. Drake wants to reach out and touch him again, but he’s scared of what might happen if he does. It’s a new feeling that builds inside him then, something much like the frantic desperation he’d felt as he scanned the water for life just moments ago: the possibility of losing him.

“ _Liam_ ,” he says, hoarse.

Liam’s eyes are just a reflection of the moonlight now, the enigma of his thoughts locked safely away. “We should… we should go home.”

Drake sits up, leaning back on his elbows, face a few inches from Liam’s. His mind is still catching up with his present, breathing heavily as he tries to figure out what to do next. Liam doesn’t move, still hovering just barely above Drake, legs tangled together.

“Okay,” he says finally, gaze still lost in Liam’s.

There’s a hesitation in Liam’s expression, and Drake thinks that maybe he’s going to kiss him again, that maybe their definitions of _home_ might overlap in ways they didn’t know before. But as quickly as the falter breaks across Liam’s face, he’s closed it back up again.

He stands up and turns away, brushing the sand off his shorts and rolling his shoulders. The ocean breeze dances icily across Drake in the places he had thought might never feel cold again.

When they get back to the palace, Liam doesn’t offer to walk Drake to his room, and Drake doesn’t ask. Instead, Liam pauses at the stairwell, turning back and resting his hand on Drake’s arm for a fleeting moment.

“Goodnight,” he says softly, “I’ll… see you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Drake answers.

Liam bites his lip, eyes raking across Drake’s face, before he suddenly steps forward and kisses him one last time. Drake barely has a second to register what’s happening before it’s over, Liam pulling back with his mouth slightly open as if he doesn’t quite believe what he’s just done either.

“Tomorrow,” he repeats, drawing his hand back from Drake’s arm, taking a few steps backward before he finally tears his gaze away and heads back up the stairs to his room.

Drake watches him go.


End file.
